■ PS 1449 

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NIAGARA! 



A P02M. 



" And their earth-shaking rear comes deadened up 
Like subterranean thunders." — 



JACKSONVILLE : 
Printed by Calvin Gov 
1835. 



[CopyR 







m 



FALLS OF NIAGARA 



AS SEEN FROM THE TABLE ROCK, 



OCTOBER, 1834. 



A POEM* 

Dedicated by filial gratitude, 

To a Friend that never changei 

— A MOTHER.— 



& 



T 



"And their earth-shaking roar comes deadened up 
Like subterranean'thunders." — 




JACKSONVILLE: 
PRINTED BY CALVIN GOUDY. 

18 35. 






It may be proper to apprise the reader that a uniformity of syllabic 
number in each line, is not intended; but only a connective harmony be- 
tween each by a musical cadence of the close of a line in its connection 
with the succeeding one; this style of meter in blank verse is perhaps 
preferable in descriptive poetry, especially of the wild and exciting; see 
the Sampson Agonistea of Milton, and others. ' Author. 



A HIT AT PREFACES. 



As a preface to an Author's appearance before his patron3 and judges 
the Public, is as much' expected and perhaps equally as necessary as 
the young Cicero's bow preparatory to his 'you'd scarce expect one of my 
age', or the 'may it please the court' when wc dare address his Honor; 
we would by no means put into disuse by an indictable silence, a custom 
(to the contrary whereof the memory of man runneth not) at once so 
consummately courteous and so indispensibly requisite, asprima facie ev- 
idence of the Author's insuperable modesty, and the supreme superiority 
of his superlative tvork. In conformity therefore to this first principle of 
Editorial education, we do most humbly and sincerely assure ' a gener- 
ous public', that it is with great diffidence and extreme reluctance that 
we venture into their august presence; for if they but frown, we faint at 
their feet, and their smile is the only genuine Eau de Cologne that can 
wake us into life again. Especially do we feel our teeth to chatter and 
our hair to stand 'like quills upon the fretful porcupine', as we introduce 
ourselves to those green-eyed gentlemen who sit gravely stroking their 
chins in ancient elbow-chairs, with the Ars Poetica and Demosthenes on 
Criticism in the original spread out in dusty relief on either knee, while 
they chuckle and grin over piles of MSS. 'sacred to the memory of 'some 
poor author whom having killed and coffin'd, they are polite enough to im- 
mortalize with, an Epitaph. Our nails turn aguish blue at the anticipated 
'off with his head' of these stern Doges in the Republic of Letters — Parce, 
precor! 'Most potent, grave, and reverend seigniors', for three most good 
and satisfactory reasons. First we are young and weakly, and a single 
shrug of your shoulders might induce phthisic or — inkaphobia; by which 
secondly, the world might lose many Epics, Lyrics, Odes, etc. which we 
believe will be of the most exalted Homeric, Pindaric, and Byronic or- 
der — And thirdly, we live in the far wild West, where as you believe 
there are nothing but Black Hawks and Rattlesnakes in every clump of 
Prairie grass; and where therefore to expect any thing more than a dog- 
gerel jingel of 

"Jack and Gill went up ilie hill," 



from a SucJcer* son of song, would be to ask a whooping Pawnee to fa» 
vor you with Alice Grey, 

Or a Buffalo to bellow 

A soft air from Cinderella . 

For these valuable considerations we have no doubt of your verdict, and 
shall therefore by the way of a brilliant peroration sum up our appeal to 
you gentlemen c of the lean and slipper'd pantaloon' and an indulgent 
public,' in the irresistible pathos of a modern bard, who as he sweetly 
sings thus sweeter sues 

u J}ont view me with a critic's eye 
But pass my imperfections by," 

and your petitioner as in duty bound will ever pray. 

THE AUTHOR, 
Jacksonville, Illinois, Jan. 1. 1835. 



* The endearing name by which the citizens of Illinois are distinguished from their bro- 
thers the Hooshers of Indiana, the Corn-crackers of Kentucky, and so on. 



POEM 



" I love not man the less, but Nature more, 

From these our interviews, in which I steal 

From all I may be, or have been before, 

To mingle with the Universe, and feel 

What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal." 

Childe Harolde — Byron, 



I stood in silent shrinking awe, 

Upon the crumbling hollow — sounding Rock, (1) 

Whose misty verge hung high and frightfully, 

Above the deep wild— whirling Waters ! 

I was alone — Nature's young Hermit, 

Mutely worshiping upon her pulpit-throne, 

The spirit of her might hovering serenely-stern 

About her Home of Power, 

The Thunder-fall of Floods ! 

I felt as if I trod on holy ground, 

Encircled by the very Presence whose command 

Opened of old the windows of the sky, 

And buried Man and his inheritance, 

In the dark fountains of the Sea ! 

What are the cobweb creeds and musty riddles 

Of the Schools, to teach Divinity? 

Proud sophist, puny babbler of another's doubts,^ 

Come and kneel here upon the tombstone 

Of thy dusty weakness, and be dumb ! 

Here lean beyond this dizzy brink, 

And learn Philosophy in this 

The Sanctuary and Solitude of Wonders ! 

Hast thou a tongue as eloquent as that, 

Of deep calling to deep'? 

A voice as musically strong as that bold echo, 



Booming upward to the ear of God 
In one eternal solemn tempest-tone 
From yonder Gulph, forever veiled 
With the dim curtaining of Clouds ! 

Look up along the rushing river, 

Ere it tumbles down in bellowing sheets of foam. 

See how the mad, rock-broken billows leap in air — 

Tossing their white and waving manes in crested pomp, 

Like the wild gallop of a thousand war-steeds, 

In the smoke and tumult of a battle-field ! 

Dashing with swift loud uproar, on they come 

Rolling in broad blue columns ; 

Until gathered on the ragged edge, 

In one wide-surging phalanx furiously they plunge 

In glassy torrents down the steep : 

Unseen to struggle in the bubbling Pool below, 

That heaves its throbbing bosom like the heart in death ! 

Rising again like a stout swimmer from its caves, 

The Cataract still downward sweeps ; 

First circling in a yeasty scintillating surface 

From beneath its canopy of spray, 

Then gracefully in sea-green eddies 

Like a mermaid's ringlets, floating with the tide ; 

Till narrow'd in its coursing by the storm-scarr'd rocks, 

It suddenly awakes again to waves, 

And proudly foams between the iron-sided hills — 

Whose dark pines shooting thro' the clefts, 

Nod in the wind like mountain plumes 

Above the impetuous flood! 

'Onward'! and ' Over ' ! still it goes, in free, 

Untamed, untiring speed, mile upon mile, 

To its last second bourn ; 

Where joining in the wheeling squadrons of the waves, 

It sinks and rises in alternate onset or defeat. 

Here on the cool hill-side you may recline, 

In balmy rest upon a couch of summer leaves, 

And watch for hours the hurtling swoop 

Of the strong whirlpool (2)— There, it runs 



In wanton gambols prancing- on the shore ; 
Now curvets haughtily around the arena's ring, (3) 
Then shakes its quivering lance in gleaming tilt, 
And charges mid encountering clash and shock, 
Far in the foaming fight! 
Look how the wrecks of that Charybdis, 
Planks and trees and splintered spars, 
In endless revolutions tcss about 
Its gurgling waters ; sinking slowly now, 
Now spinning upward like tail masts, 
To be the sport and play-things of destruction, 
Ere she swallow them forever in her strangling depths ! 
Returning homeward you may stroll thro' Caverns, (4) 
And on velvet moss-seats meditate, 
While chrystal mountain-springs gush at your feet 
In softened hum along their pebbled path. 
Still further on there is a deep and hideous hole, (5) 
Whose cheerless night the sun hath never lit — 
Here by a loose and mouldering ladder, 
Then by careful step clinging to hanging vines 
And jutting roots, yon may descend, 
Down to its dismal shades — 

There in the hemloc gloom with hissing serpents 
Gliding thro' the rustling grass, fancy will draw 
The panther with his burning eye fix'd on you, 
Bristling in his lair to spring down from his hiding-place 
Or as the twittering oat brushes your cheek 
With his damp wing, will whisper in your ear 
Wild tales of horrid Murder, till you see 
The Bandit issuing from the thicket grimly stand, 
Scowling before you smeared with blood, 
And feel the cold sweat burst 
In beaded drops upon your brow ! 
* * * 

Beetling in lonely majesty high over the 
Colossal wall whose dark unfathomable base 
No plummet ever sounded, stands a round Tower; 
Looming in feudal grandeur thro' the storm — 



Against its gray rough sides the current ever chafes, 

Threat'ning with each new surge, 

To hurl its huge foundations down — while still beyond 

Its daring site, to lead the fearless traveler 

From the shore, topples a slender bridge, (6) 

Poised o'er the precipice and shrouded, 

In the curling vapour of the boisterous abyss ! 

Thrown headlong from the lofty banks that girdle 
With a flinty barrier America's domain, 
(In spirit like her Frontier Shield of native strength) 
Behold another river in big undulations fall ; 
Bounding and breaking like a mighty Avalanche, ■ 
Descending from its Alpine eyre, 
In a whirlwind of thick snow ! 
Hark how it roars ! Louder and deeper, 
Than the bison at his bay or the Numidian lion, 
When he lashes in his jungle his hot sides, 
And pants for blood! — 

See far thro' the hazy air, a moving speck — 
Ha! 'tis a gallant little boat, 

Struggling with desperate oar and lightly dancing, 
On the bounding swells! 

Borne like a buoyant cork by the resistless stream, 
Away she shoots unequal to the force ; 
Recovering, she fronts with a courageous prow 
The multitude of her opposers, bravely cuts her way 
Through their dividing ranks, 
And battles with the breakers ! 
Row, brothers row— another pull — she's safe! 
And shouts of laughter from the dark-eyed ones, 
Who spring upon the strand proclaim, 
A merry ride and bonny boat ! (7) 
* « • 

Hail tho' the opening portals of thy Kingly coming, 
To illuminate man's face and nature's with bright smiles , 
Thou dazzling messenger of light and life ! 
Hung like an ever-burning Lamp amid the darkness 
Of the Universe, to gild the pathway of the stars, 



And throw the mantle of thy glory on the earth ! 

Three Rainbows at my feet!! Beauty so blended 

With wild power drawn on the canvass of the sky, 

Is like a picture handed down from Heaven, 

Fresh from the pencil of the Almighty's hand ! 

Now glittering in the Sun's full unobstructed blaze, 

They flash in living lustre thro' the sparkling air ; 

Rising in high broad arches like so many 

Bridges built of burnished jewels, 

On whose rosy tops Angels might hovering strike 

Their harps harmonious with the mellow bass 

Of Nature's never-ending Hymn ! 

Now melting into fainter hues, they linger in a 

Sunset bloom among the pearly clouds ; 

Till broken by the shaded disc that shaped them 

In their gorgeous symmetry, they fade away 

To * airy nothing ' — like the pale twinkling of the 

Morning star, or the young Poet's painted dreams of fame, 

In the ' disastrous twilight ' of defeated hopes ! 

Nor does the modest Moon refuse to see, 

Her gentle image mirror'd in its dewy sheen— 

For there in stilly midnight when the weary world 

Is hush'd in sleep, her silvery Crescent 

Spans the spray softly and tremblingly, 

" Resembling 'mid the torture of the scene 

Love, watching madness, with unalterable mien " — 

Full many a fathom down, winding with cautious 

Hesitating march along a narrow dusky path, 

A file of men, slewly and singly move; 

In their slouched caps and leather-belted jerkius not unlike, 

A robber-band among the passes of old Spain. 

One, like a Chamois nimbly leaps before, 

Thoughtless of peril— 'tis the trusty guide, 

Who leads a train of bold adventurers, 

To the cold shadowy Cave of Death! (8) 

Cloistered behind the howling Cataract, 

And guarded by strong gusts of blinding rain 

And bleak tornadoes; where dun Night and Horror, 

Sit enthroned in the long silent solitude of Centuries, 

B 



10 

Tbe Spectre Genii of that vast unknown ! ! 

But where is it in the wide range of Earth, 

That man's ambition or his curious research, 

Tempts not his eye to wonder or his little foot to roam ! 

In a frail nut-shell with a film of thread for wings, 

He scuds the rugged, conquered Ocean, when and where he wills 

Beards the grim Bear crouched in his den. 

And robshirn of his fur to wander waumly, 

Over Polar snows and Pyramids of Ice ! 

Burdens the Camel's back and roves, 

The boundluss deserts of the burning East. 

Now starts the Bengal tiger from his bed of reeds, 

And now pursues the barb'd Leviathan, 

Along the blood-empurpled Sea ! 

Now leaps the Highland hunter of the wintry Alps, 

Its glacier ravines with his iron spear, 

And now gropes darkly among slimy sculls 

And scaly sharks and all the myriad phantom-forms, 

That gleam and flit in noiseless terror through 

The watery wastes; to gem the casket of a Prince's pride , 

Or bind the brow of beauty with the Persian pearl ! (9) 

Climbs Chimborazo, and unfurls his banner 

On its frosty peak — Scales ^Etna's lava-crags, 

And loiters fearlessly among 

The smoking cinders of its Earthquake-fires! 

In the deep mine he flares his torch, 

And digs his sacrilegious way thro' entomb'd Cities; (10) 

And when lost for new discoveries on Earth, 

Columbus-like leaves the old world, 

And safely in his Air- Ship voyages the clouds, 

Whiln frightened eagles scream beneath. 

His Heaven-directed Car ! ! 

* * * 

Tradition tells that in the olden time, 
When the red forest-deer play'd in his antler'd strength 
And browsed in freedom on the tender bud, 
Where now the heifer lows responsive to the milk-maid's call, 
And crops contentedly the planted blade ; 
When the unlettered Red-man, ignorant of titles 
Called these woods his hunting-grounds, 



And leaning- on his how here bent his head 

To the Great Spirit ; then, one of his sun-burnt tribe 

A. woman, in the light beach canoe of those rude days 

Was seen dipping in quick irregular stroke 

A Chieftain's paddle through the waves, 

To speed her brittle boat beyond the Rapids, 

To the distant shore. In vain — 

She never more shall pull the berry from the bush, 

Or pluck the purple grape ; 

Nor with her tinsell'd moccason press fragrance, 

From the honied wild flowers of her native hills ! 

Like a fleet arrow from the finger of her own 

Her husband-chief, so darts the whirring skiff, 

Adown its swift descent. 

She with the noble calmness of the Indian Brave, 

When valor falls a prisoner to fate, 

Intrepidly erect sat singing her death-song, 

Her arms folded on her breast, her paddle at her feet ! 

On, on, they fly — till nearing the dread brisk, 

Young Ataleusa rose, her longblackhair 

Streaming dishevel'd in the whistling breeze ; 

Then uttering one shrill funeral shriek, 

Leaped like a wounded fawn down to her 

Deep-dug dungeon grave! (11) 

Niagara ! What nameless thoughts, what mystic feelings 

Of Immensity, throb thro' the reeling brain and thrill 

With new pulsations thro' the trembling heart, 

Of him who gazes downward from thy battlements. 

And hears the deaf'ning deluge of thy roar ! 

Imagination charmed and startled quits 

Her anchorite-cell, and wondering contemplates 

Creations animate with all the elements of life, 

Which her inspired conceptions, Proteus-visions , 

And her talismanic power, had never conjured 

With the magic of her mightiest spells ! 

And still, thou paragon of picturesque sublimity. 

Nature's great Panorama of hex works, thou flowest on 

Unnoticed by the bard, and none hath writ, 

Thy Giant grandeur on the deathless scroll ! (12) 



12 

O! that the noble Exile of ignoble^ co urts, 

Who roamed in sandal-shoon the classic shores 

Of slavish climes, and with his Sea-shell lyre, 

Lulled envy with her Argus-eye asleep ; 

Forced jealous Jeffrey with repentant hand to wreath, 

The laurel 'round the brow he scorned and scarr'd, 

And witch'd the world with passioned song — 

O that his silken sail had turned from Scio's Isles, 

And sought beneath the Western pilot star a home, 

And shunn'd a sepulchre ! (13) 

Then for the muffled drum and chaunted prayer, 

The toll of bells and minute-gun of woe, 

That moaned thro'Missilonghi's streets her widow'd grief; 

The generous welcome would have warmly rung 

Along the white sands of Columbia's coast, 

And Freemen hailed a brother on the beach, 

Where Suliots wept a warrior on his bier ! 

Then where Velino flashes in the Harold's verse, 

Thy name Niagara would now have beamed 

The Iris of his page ! But tho' the Poet-Hero 

Of the captive Greek, wove not thy mem'ry with 

His glorious fame, must then no minstrel dare 

Because in ruder rhyme, the spirit-kindling theme 1 

Shall every babbling brook, creeping cascade 

And drowsy torrent, in ^.foreign soil, 

Be echoed in its infant murmurs 

From the scholar's sounding line, and thou alone, 

The matchless King of Cataracts whose vast 

Reverberations rock the quivering hills remain, 

Unhouor'd and unsung 1 ? Columbia! Must thy Sons 

Ungrateful to thy call desert the Parent-land 

Of forest, flood, and legendary lore, to strut 

With bearded lip (14) the corridores of Dons and Dukes, 

Catch inspiration from the cobwebs of Monastic aisles, 

Romantic sit in gondolas and sk ; m the fetid scurf 

Of sweet Canals, while listening \\ :th an English ear 

To Tuscan ballads from a boatman's lungs ! 

Must Freedom's ramparts washed by waves, 

That come careering from the far-off fields 

Where Liberty nail'd fast her flag of stars, 



13 



And Victory crown'd her Perry on the foreman's deck 

Neglected crumble in no chronicle recorded, 

While her genius in the Alhambra charms, 

And like a diamond glitters thro' 

The marble ruins and rubbish of Castile ! 

Shall trans-Atlantic fancy weep the young Gertrude, (15) 

And find in Western Wyoming a paradise, 

While native talent flirts in masquerade 

At Carnivals, or penseroso woos 

Venitian lashes on the "Bridge of Sighs "! ! ! (16) 
* * * 

Pilgrims of Nature ! Ye who love to wander out 

Among the eld blue mountains, 

And to sit on ruined rocks at eventide 

In wizard thought, and listen to the vesper-chime 

Of whispering tree-tops and the tuneful waterfall; 

Who see sweet beauty in the blossom'd grove, 

And hear rare melody among its stirring leaves — 

Who find strange pleasure in the moonlit dell, 

And feel ■ a rapture on the lonely shore : ' 

Leave Italy's soft sunsets to her pensive maids, 

Her Roman relics to the Antiquary — 

Alps and Appenines and the vine-festooned hills of France 

Stern Scotia's lochs and heather, and the sunny Rhine 

And red-lipp'd peasant girls and mountain bugle-notes 

Of Switzerland, and journey to, 

The happy Empire of the spangled jlag ! 

And when ye shall have trod the mossy Island 

Of the Indian dead (17) where guardian quiet watches, 

Over the green burial-place of Warriors, 

Climbed these towering hiils or mused among, 

The shady chambers of their Caves ; 

When ye have looked down from this Dover-cliff, 

Where Peace sits smiling on her throne of clouds, 

And waves her Rainbow-banner over War — 

Then heard the JEolian minstrelsy of that 

Surge-sounding Harp, whose Ocean tones 

Shall sing and sigh unearthly music to your ear: 

Ye shall confess it worthy of your pilgrimage, 

And the poor tribute of the Poefs praise I 

WILLIAM H.COYLE. 



N OTES 



Note 1, Page 5. 

Upon the crumbling hollow sounding Rock. 
The Table rock on the Canada side is a favorite posilion with visitors for viewing the 
magnificent spectacle that there breaks on the sight. Smooth and level on its surface, it 
resembles the leaf of a Table, and juts out from the bank immediately over the preci- 
pice. From it the eye takes in the Rapids, the Crescent, Schlosser, and Central Falls, 
with Goat Island, and in fact all the range of scenery — while by planting your fool 
against a dwarf cedar that shoots out from its very edge, you may look directly down into 
the boiling gul'ph . 

Note 2, Page 6. 

Of the strong Whirlpool. 
About' three and a half miles below me Falls. This alone is a curiosity worth a Jong 
journey. 

Note 3, Page 7. 

Now curvets haughtily around the arena* s ring: 
About the centre of the vortex there is usually visible a belt of froth, which suggested 
the figure of 'the arena's ring .' 

Note 4, Page 7. 

Returning homeward you may stroll thro' Caverns, 
Catlin's, Bender's, and others — some of the specimens of calcareous tufa there found 
arc remarkably rich . Stalactites pendant from the roof have also been obtained of 
the most beautiful formations. 

Note 5, Page 7. 

Still further on there is a deep and hideous hole . 
Called Devil's Hole — about one hundred and fifty feet perpendicular. There is a 
tradition connected with this place of an Indian murder as frfightful in its nature as the 
spot selected for its cruel perpetration. 

Note 6, Page 8. 
From the shore, topples a slender bridge. 
Terrapin Bridge— hanging immediately over the Horse-Shoe Falls. Many consi- 
der its prospect superior to that of Table Rock, and vice versa. It certainly is a point 
of fearful interest— suspended as you are over the very Cataract, far from shore, with the 
water flying and foaming under your feet, and the spray dashing into your face !— 

Note 7, Page 8. 

A merry ride and bonny boat- ! 
The Ferry-boat . There is much to excite in this singular passage— the effect may be 
still more heightened by the ' Canadian Boat Song ' or ' Lord Ullin's daughter t especial- 
ly if sung by a Lady-love at your side . An umbrella is a necessary protection here from 
the heavy mist that Mle in incessant showers. 



15 

Note 8, Page 9. 
To the cold shadowy Cave of Death .' 
Inasmuch as Mr. Ingraham (to whom visitors aid much indebted Cor his graphic 
Manual) has called the Cave behind the American Falls the 'Cave of the Winds,' / 
have called that behind the Canadian the Cave of Death, as indicative of its dangerand 
gloom. It is true in an oil cloth dress you may make a partial entrance— but the boun- 
dary to man's daring here, begins almost with his first step. 

Note 9, Page 10. 

Or bind the brow of beauty with the Persian pearl ! 
Alluding to the Divers in die Persian Gulpk, celebrated for its pearl fisheries 

Note 10, Page 10, 
And digs his sacrilegious way thro' entomb'd Cities. 
Herculaneum, Pompeii, and others. 

Note 11, Page 11. 
Deep-dug dungeon grave ! 
I have altered the version of the story in tw"o particulars — Preferring a young to an 
old squaw, and an honorable heroic death, to an incredible escape. Believing my heroine, 
as I do, to have been neither witch nor peri. 

Note 12, Page 12. 
Thy Giant grandeur on the deathless scroll ! 
It is an astonishing fact that with so splendid a subject for the muse, none has as yet 
embodied its merits. True it is, in the Book of Names on either shore are multitudinous 
fcraps of the moment, but excepting a reflection of some fifty or sixty lines by a Span- 
ish traveler (Jose Maria Heredia) nothing in the shape of a poem has ever been attempted. 
— One visitor asks " What poet will describe his feelings, and record his thoughts, as he 
stood here alone with God !" Another says " It would be a noble subject for a poet; and 
I do hope some one of our gifted bards will tune his lyre to this theme. " These with sim- 
ilar appeals, coupled to a regret that so sublime a scene should have been so long and so 
shamefully neglected, induced the writer to take up his scarcely fledged pen, in behalf of 
its slighted claims . Should his crude sketch contribute either a moment's pleasure to his 
readers, or excite the attention of some 'gifted bard ' to the subject, he will be satisfied and 
his aim accomplished. 

Note 13, Page 12. 

And shunn'd a sepulchre ! 
It was Loid Byron's settled intention to have visited our infant Republic ; but especial- 
ly while enlisted for the independence of Greece. In a letter on that topic he says, "I 
will go to the United States, and procure from that free and enlightened government to set 
the example of recognising the federation of Greece as an independent state ." For a 
further opinion of our Country, vide the IV Canto of his Childe. 

Note 14, Page 12. 

With bearded lip the corridores of Dons and Dukes. 

Alias. Mostacho — This hairy honor, is reckoned by some as indisputable evidence of a 

chivalrous spirit and noble blood' — and as such is frequently shipp'd on a return voyage, 

by American Tourists — Few however of our peaceful Democratic Cits, wore this Billy- 

Goat distinction untilthe arrival of the Poles! but then Ye Gods! what an admiration of 

the Patriots and their upper lip! O, what lathering and laboring and shaving for 

■ the exile's beard! Bear's oil, rose! etc. 



16 

Note 15, Page 13. 
Shall trans-Atlantic fancy weep the young Gertrude. 
See Campbell's 'Gertrude of Wyoming.' 

Note 16, Page 13. 

Venitian lashes on the "Bridga of Sighs" . ! ! 
This mania-itinerant of Students (Novelists included) for foreign scenery, characters, 
and events, which have become absolutely soiled and threadbare by mere fingering, 
should be cured if advice wont answer, by confinement and low diet in Asylums/or lite- 
rary fugitives. By this is meant not only the 'in propria persona' loco-motion on 
the Continent, but the illicit pedlaring in such smuggled goods for home consump- 
tion. Have we not sufficient of the raw material for the manufacture of fabrics 
as novel as they might be fine 1 — true — but then we must learn the trade abroad. And 
has the style and texture of some of our late works been essentially improvedby giving them 
the foreign stamp ? The truth is we are sick of the gingerbread and pastry of French and 
Italian Cook-shops — give us some of the milk and honey of our own country . 

Note 17, Page 13. 

Of the Indian dead where guardian quiet watches. 
There have been several Indian skeletons dug up on Goat Island. 



Errata. — Page 5, line six from top, for Harolde, read Harold. Page 8, 
line five from bottom, for tho' the opening, read thro'' the opening, etc. 



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